


moving your hearts (right through mine)

by sarcasm_and_sabres



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hanahaki Disease, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 11:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19375900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasm_and_sabres/pseuds/sarcasm_and_sabres
Summary: Jeff shouldn’t sign in Buffalo. He should go to Vancouver, to San Jose, to Anaheim. Should get as far away as possible from Sam and Jack. If he runs away, across the continent from them, he might just be able to fall out of love with them. It’d be the smart thing to do. The safe thing to do. Jeff should put all thoughts of Buffalo out of his mind and never look back.Jeff signs in Buffalo.





	moving your hearts (right through mine)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from to the ocean by clubhouse, with assistance from Alex.
> 
> I guess I'm onboard with populating this ship all by myself, then.

Jeff has no idea something is wrong until the All-Star Game. 

He’s excited, thrilled that the Buffalo fans seem to have welcomed him and that he gets to go and hang out with Jack. And it’ll be nice to have a weekend in warm weather. Home games in Buffalo are a far cry from how they’d been in Carolina, even if the winter warmth had never felt quite right despite the number of seasons he’d spent there. Jack would probably laugh and say it’s the Canadian in him refusing to be stifled.

But it’s going to be a fun weekend, is the point. He’ll get a bit of a break, get to hang out with friends he doesn’t see nearly often enough, and see what his new captain is like away from the stress of games that count.

Except that his chest has been aching since he got on the plane to San Jose, and now would be a really inopportune time to get sick. 

“No dying on me,” Jack says, patting his arm and sliding his water glass closer when Jeff pauses mid-sentence to cough for about the fiftieth time during dinner. 

”Yeah, I don’t think that’s something you need to worry about,” Jeff says hoarsely.

“Maybe your system’s revolting against the warm weather,” Jack suggests cheerfully as Jeff drains half of his water in one pull. Jeff rolls his eyes and rubs at his aching chest.

“Yep, that’s exactly it, thanks Dr. Eichel,” he says. 

Jack grins, but his brow is scrunched in concern. “If you wanna head back, I can pay and finish up here.”

“I’m fine, seriously,” Jeff insists. “If it doesn’t get better, I’ll see the team docs once we get back. But I’m literally eating dinner, man, it’s fine.”

Jack squints at him, not looking happy about the situation, though he does drop it. And Jeff resists the urge to cough or rub at his chest for the remainder of the meal.

\- - -

Overall, it’s a fun weekend, but Jeff is more than ready to get back to Buffalo by the time the festivities are winding down. His damned cough is only getting worse, no matter how many cough drops he sneaks when he’s out of Jack’s watchful gaze.

And speaking of, “What’re you thinking about?” Jack asks, pocketing his phone and leaning into Jeff, curls tickling his neck.

“Not much,” Jeff says quickly, rolling his eyes and poking Jack’s shoulder. “I’m gonna guess you’re thinking about your boyfriend and how glad you’re gonna be to get back to him.”

Jack flushes, red traveling from his ears down to where his skin disappears beneath the collar of his shirt, and Jeff wonders how far down it goes. 

“It’s entirely possible,” Jack admits, unrepentant. “But I’ve got you right now.”

“Oh good, I’m glad I can be Sam 2.0,” Jeff says dryly, though he still hasn’t moved to dislodge Jack. “That’s the real reason I came to Buffalo, you know.”

Jack’s laughter is light and unworried, and something in Jeff’s chest clenches at the sound.

\- - -

He sets his alarm for an hour earlier than usual and leaves for the arena, a bag of cough drops and his largest travel mug of tea in the cupholders next to him. It feels dumb to be going to the team docs over some coughing and chest discomfort, but he had promised Jack. Most likely they’ll check him over and say he’s fine, just needs to get some extra rest and pay attention to his symptoms in case they get worse.

“Morning, Jeff,” Marc says, looking up from his computer with a smile when Jeff raps lightly on the doorframe. “Come on in, there something I can help you with?” 

“Hopefully I’m overreacting,” Jeff says, “but I think I might have a—a respiratory infection, or something.”

“Sit down.” Marc says, gesturing at the exam table behind him as he retrieves his stethoscope. “What’s been going on?”

Jeff sits, not noticing he’s rubbing at his chest until Marc taps his fingers against Jeff’s wrist. He likes Marc, is usually glad for his no-nonsense yet friendly demeanor, but there’s dread in his gut and he doesn’t want to be here.

“I noticed it over the weekend, just an ache in my chest and I can’t stop coughing. It almost feels like there’s something in there that’s, I dunno, blocking things up.”

“Hmm,” Marc murmurs, pursing his lips and pressing the stethoscope to Jeff’s chest. “Deep breath.”

He listens to Jeff’s breathing for a minute before setting the stethoscope aside, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Well, it sounds like there’s some crackling in there. Could be nothing, but could be the beginnings of pneumonia or some other respiratory infection. I’d like to get some chest x-rays, see what we’re dealing with in there.”

“Okay,” Jeff agrees, hopping to his feet and following Marc out of the room.

“Any other symptoms? Fever, headache, congestion?” Marc asks, setting a brisk pace down the hall. 

“No,” Jeff says, “I really feel fine, just the coughing and chest pain.”

“Hmm.” Marc doesn’t say anything more, just opens the door and gestures Jeff inside. “You know the drill, just do what the technician tells you.” 

Jeff does indeed know the drill, and lying on a table while they take x-rays of his chest is not exactly a hard task. It’s not until he’s back in the trainer’s room waiting for Marc that he starts to feel nervous. If it is some respiratory infection, chances are he’ll have passed it on to Jack and maybe more of their team by now. The absolute last thing they need right now is half the team getting sick.

Marc comes back a few minutes later, smile nowhere to be seen. The x-rays in his hand are indecipherable from across the room, though his expression says it’s bad news.

“Well,” he starts, “it’s not pneumonia. Or any respiratory infection, in fact. It’s hanahaki.”

“The...the flower disease?” Jeff asks, the heated room jumping about ten degrees warmer. “That’s not...”

“I’m afraid so.” Marc sets the x-rays on the counter next to his computer, still frowning. “There’s really no mistaking it.”

“What are my options?” Jeff heard himself say, though it feels like someone else is controlling his mouth. Hanahaki. But he’s not even...

“Well, who are you in love with?” Marc asks matter-of-factly. Nobody, Jeff wants to say, but before he can open his mouth, an image of Jack’s flush and Sam’s bright smile pops into his mind. But no. That can’t be... 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Marc continues, “but obviously the best option is to talk to them. Otherwise, there are certain medications to slow the flower’s growth. Then there’s surgery to remove it, but I don’t think that’s an option in your case.”

“Why not?” Jeff asks. He doesn’t exactly relish the thought of surgery in his chest, but it’s better than dying. Because he somehow managed to fall for a couple that’s already dating.

Marc sighs, opens up his computer and types something. “Here,” he says. “This is a normal case of hanahaki, and this is yours.”

Jeff squints at them, frowning. The two pictures look pretty much the same. Except...

“Does mine have two flowers instead of just one?”

“It does,” Marc confirms. “It’s a rare strain, usually just when someone is in love with two other people and not just one. There’s no way to surgically remove them without killing the patient that we’ve found.”

“So either they’re actually in love with me and I end up okay, or I die,” Jeff summarizes.

“Falling out of love with them would cause the plant to shrivel away on its own,” Marc adds. “But barring that, yes, those are your options.”

“How long do I have?” Jeff asks, a wave of disbelief sweeping over him. He’s almost definitely going to die. He’s not even thirty and is about to hit free agency and he’s not going to live to see the end of whatever new contract he signs.

“With the right medication to suppress it, maybe three years,” Marc says. “There are a lot of factors, though. I take it you don’t think the love is reciprocated?”

Jeff shakes his head, rubbing at his chest. God, he’s stupid. 

“Alright, I’ll get you a prescription for that. I’m going to talk to one of the hanahaki specialists over at the hospital, but in the meantime I think you’re fine to keep playing.”

“Thanks,” Jeff says automatically. Dying. He’s dying. Unless he can stop thinking about Jack’s bright eyes and what it would feel like to get his hands in that curly hair and Sam’s infectious laugh and having his soft, crooked smile directed at Jeff. 

\- - -

He’s not going to think about it until the offseason, he decides. The medication is good enough for now and he’s checking in with the docs once a week, and things are as under control as they can be. They have games to win and playoffs to get to and once they’ve gotten eliminated or won the Cup, Jeff can worry about the roots wrapping themselves through his lungs.

Except that his production is dipping and they keep losing and the frustration—the fucking familiar frustration that Jeff has felt every damn season—is building and it seems like they’re not going to playoffs after all. They were on the top of the league and now they’re back to being its laughingstock and Jeff hates it. He wants to fucking win.

\- - -

Jeff coughs up the first petals an hour after their final game of the season. They’ve utterly slaughtered Detroit and he supposes it should technically be a good note to end the season on, but it just feels hollow. He’s scored forty goals but he couldn’t bring the goals when the team really needed them. They’ve won but really they’ve lost and Jeff either wants to cry or scream. Instead he smiles at the team and showers and changes and ducks into the bathroom and spends five minutes coughing and choking and coughing into the sink.

When his chest and throat are raw and aching and all he wants to do is lie down on the floor, he looks down into the sink. There’s white and blue petals sitting there, looking innocent and beautiful and like they came from somewhere that isn’t the inside of Jeff’s body.

\- - -

He googles it, once they’re back in Buffalo. He needs to sleep and pack and get ready for exit interviews and text his agent to see how contract negotiations are going. 

Instead he pulls out his laptop and describes the two types of flower petals as best he can.

Twenty minutes later, he wants to laugh. They’re Western trillum and hepatica flowers. Commonly found in British Columbia and Massachusetts. If he had any doubts about who he loves so helplessly that it’s growing in his lungs, the universe has let him know in no uncertain terms.

Ironic, really. When the roots start to grow through his lungs he’ll bring up blood along with the petals. Red and white and blue, just like the three of them. Not that there is a three of them.

\- - -

He answers questions about his contract and hugs his teammates and goes to the Masters with some of his younger teammates and wonders what the fuck he’s supposed to do. He doesn’t want to die. But he’s in love with his captain and his captain’s boyfriend. He can’t break them up, he can’t let himself die, and he doesn’t think he can fall out of love with them. He’s got an offer from Buffalo on the table and the knowledge that other teams will definitely be interested.

He could stay, and build on what they’d made this year. He could go, and sign with a sure contender. He could help Buffalo become one of those contenders and be a major part of the core. He could have an almost certainty of skating out onto playoff ice. He could spend more time with Sam and Jack and probably fall more in love with them and die. He could spend virtually no time with Sam and Jack and probably miss them desperately and end up dying anyways.

He tells his agent he wants to see who the new coach is, and goes home to Markham.

\- - -

“Jeff!” A chorus greets him when he walks out of the airport with his suitcase. He gets big hugs from his sisters and his parents and it’s the first thing that feels right since January. No matter how the world shifts around him, Markham and his family are always there to go home to.

“So how did you feel about the end of the season, honey?” his mom asks on the drive, the most mom question ever and one that neither Jeff nor his sisters have ever been able to talk her out of asking.

“Playoffs would have been nice,” he says noncommittally. “Nice to hit the forty mark, though.”

“Yes! I was so excited when you got that last one,” his dad says, as if he hasn’t said that exact sentence half a dozen times already.

“How have contract talks been going?” Jillian asks, though she looks apologetic when Jeff can’t pull back his wince in time. “But if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s—“

“No, it’s fine,” Jeff says.

“Don’t interrupt your sister,” his mother says, and Jeff gives her a sheepish look.

“Sorry, Jill. I’m just kind of waiting now. I wanna see who they hire as coach, and to talk to you guys about it.”

“Well, I for one loved having you so close,” his mom says. “If you liked it as much as you said you did, it seems like a perfect fit for you.”

“Maybe. I dunno.” Because there’s always the matter of Sam and Jack hanging over him, but Jeff’s not going to be saying anything about that to his parents anytime soon. First there’d have to be the gay conversation, then one about relationships with more than one other person, and then the ‘oh yeah your son is dying’ one. Not really what he wants to drop on his family twenty minutes after meeting up with them.

“You know we’re always happy to listen,” his dad says. “But for tonight, I think we all might appreciate a homemade family dinner and movie night. How’s that sound, Jeff?”

“That sounds perfect, honestly,” Jeff says. A chance to relax for once and not have to think about how he’s managed to make a mess of a dream he’s had since he was a kid.

\- - -

“Alright kids, we’re going to bed,” Jeff’s mom says after they’ve finished the movie. “Don’t stay up too late and burn the house down.”

Jillian snorts but doesn’t protest when their mom ruffles her hair and kisses her forehead before repeating the process with Jeff. Their dad waves at the two of them, eyes more than halfway closed already.

Jill grins, flopping back to sprawl across Jeff’s lap once their parents are upstairs.

“Some things never change,” she says.

“Dad falling asleep in the middle of movie night, for one,” Jeff agrees with a laugh. “I wouldn’t change it for anything, though. It’s nice to have some constants.”

“Considering how much you’ve changed, I’d say so,” Jill says, which, what?

She rolls her eyes when he asks as much, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a handful of something white and blue. A napkin? No. Flower petals.

Jeff’s blood runs cold, and if Jill wasn’t lying on top of him he’d sit up straight and maybe try to hide in the couch cushions.

“I can explain,” he stammers, with precisely zero idea of how he’s going to do that.

“Please do.” Jill’s voice is icy in a way he’s rarely heard directed at him. He never wants to hear it again, he decides immediately. “I’d love an explanation about why you come home acting weird and coughing up flower petals that isn’t what I think it is.”

“I don’t—it is what you think it is,” Jeff admits, helplessly. ”I’m in love, so those are growing.”

“Who is it? Have you talked to her?” Jill asks, that edge of ice still coloring her voice as she twirls a flower petal between two of her fingers.

“Him, actually,” Jeff says, feeling his muscles go rigid in anticipation of her reaction. Which doesn’t happen.

Well, she shrugs and looks up at him, one eyebrow raised. “Who is he, then?”

“It’s, um.” Jeff chews on his lower lip. So she’s chill about the gay part, which he kind of figured she would be, but. “Jack and Sam. My teammates.”

Her eyes go wide, and she looks back at the two different types of petals in her hand. 

“Oh,” is all she says. “That complicates things, doesn’t it.”

It’s not a question, but Jeff answers it anyways. “Yeah. Not least because they’re already dating each other.”

“So you have to stop loving them, or you die, right?” she asks, still not moving, still too calm. Jeff wonders if she has that same numbness that coursed through his body when he’d gotten his x-rays back. “So just sign in Colorado or somewhere and forget about them. Find a hot guy there and fall in love with someone who’s gonna love you back. You’re easy to love.”

\- - -

Jill’s right.

Jeff shouldn’t sign in Buffalo. He should go to Vancouver, to San Jose, to Anaheim. Should get as far away as possible from Sam and Jack. If he runs away, across the continent from them, he might just be able to fall out of love with them. It’d be the smart thing to do. The safe thing to do. Jeff should put all thoughts of Buffalo out of his mind and never look back.

Jeff signs in Buffalo.

\- - -

Jack’s the first one to call him, because why would Jeff expect anything different?

“So, I hear our core just got a new long-term member,” Jack says, the smile coming across clearly in his voice.

“Heck yeah it did.” Jeff smiles in return, carefully taking shallow breaths and not rubbing at his chest. “Gonna make you look good for another season, Cap.”

“Think you’ve got that order a little scrambled,” Jack chirps. “Who’s a point per game player?”

”Who scored forty goals?” Jeff shoots back.

“Hey, maybe this year we’ll all score forty.”

Jeff freezes, because Sam. Of course they’re together. His voice is a lazy drawl, sounding more relaxed than Jeff’s heard him pretty much ever, and Jeff can picture them right now, Sam’s head pillowed on Jack’s lap as Jack plays with his hair, a soft smile on his face. 

“No arguments here,” Jeff manages to say. “It’s about damn time we get some playoff hockey around here.”

“Agreed,” Jack says. “And hey, I bet your family’s happy to have you close by for so long.”

Swallowing hard, Jeff forces a smile for the empty room. “Yeah. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”

“Hey, I’ll let you get back to what you were doing, I just wanted to say congrats and how excited I am to have you sticking around.”

“How excited we both are,” Sam corrects, and Jeff smiles before he can stop himself.

“Yeah. It’s gonna be great playing with you guys.”

He hangs up and drops his phone on the kitchen counter, dropping his head into his hands. It’s fine. It’ll be fine. His teammates are happy he’s staying in Buffalo, his parents are happy he’s staying in Buffalo.

Except, of course, that none of them would be happy about it if they knew that he was dying. But it’s Jeff’s choice, and he made his choice. He decided, and he has to be the one to handle it. And he can, is the thing. He weighed his choices and this was the one he could best live with, and there’s no going back now. 

If only his body would get on the same page, as he chokes on petals suddenly filling his throat and grabs for the counter. Wheezing and trying to cough the flowers up, he stumbles over to the sink and leans over it, finally getting enough air in to start coughing. 

He’s lightheaded and dizzy by the time his throat clears properly, hunched over and gasping for breach over a sink filled with bloody flowers. Fuck this. Fuck this so much.

He rinses out the sink and his mouth, closing his eyes and rubbing at his temples in an attempt to fend off his brewing headache. It’s not really late enough to warrant it, but with the stress and excitement of the past few days, an early bed sounds like a great idea. He can just faceplant and deal with the world tomorrow.

Naturally, when he glances at his phone before climbing into bed, a text from Jillian catches his eye. “CALL ME,” she’s said, and the lack of another message sets off Jeff’s warning lights. He debates waiting for the morning, but in the end, she’s his sister, and it’s not really a choice.

“You’re a selfish asshole, you know that?” Jillian snaps without hesitation the second she picks up. “How do you think Buffalo’s going to feel when you’re dead a year into that nice shiny fucking contract they gave you, huh? How do you think Sam and Jack are gonna feel?”

“Jill, it was my choice.” Jeff sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “You don’t know how things are going to play out.”

“Yeah? Didn’t you tell me that Sam and Jack are in love and happy together? Didn’t you tell me there was no chance they loved you? So why the fuck did you decide to stay there?” Jill demands, getting louder with each question.

“That’s not—“

“I don’t want to fucking watch you die!” Jill yells. ”Fuck you for deciding that for all of us!”

“You never know,” Jeff says, though it’s weak even to his own ears. “I might fall out of love with them. They might decide they need a third person in their lives.”

Both seem equally unlikely, but as Jeff rubs his aching chest, he doesn’t have regrets. He’ll be happy for the rest of his life, at least.

“Will you promise me something?” Jill asks, sniffling, and Jeff winces. Making his sister cry was not exactly his goal here.

“What is it?” He knows better than to agree immediately, but with Jeff practically signing his own death certificate and Jillian the only one who knows about it, he can’t think of much he wouldn’t promise right now.

“Promise me you’ll talk to them. When it gets bad. Promise me you’ll at least ask before you die.”

Well, that he can do. It won’t be fun, and it’ll probably make Jack and Sam feel awful, but if it’ll make Jill feel better, he can do it.

“I promise,” he says. “I love you, you know that? I didn’t do this to hurt you.”

“Just because you didn’t mean to doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt,” Jill says softly. “I know you didn’t choose this, but you chose to stay in Buffalo.”

“What do you want me to do?” Jeff asks, clenching a fist uselessly. He’s never had a fucking choice, not in this. There’s no guarantee he’d fall out of love even if he went as far away as possible, and there’s nothing else he can really do about it. There’s no training he can do until it gets better, no new doctor he can see, absolutely nothing.

Jill sighs, as frustrated in the single sound as Jeff feels. “I don’t know. Just...be my brother, I guess.”

“That I can do, Squirt,” Jeff says. “And hey, I’ll still be close to you guys. We’ll see a lot of each other this season.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” she says. “Look, I’m supposed to go out with some friends tonight. But you’d better call me like every day, you got that?”

“I got it,” Jeff agrees. “Love you.”

“You too, dumbass.”

She hangs up on him, and Jeff tosses his phone on his bedside table. She’s right. He owes it to everyone to talk to Sam and Jack at some point. And he also owes it to everyone to be the best brother, son, friend, and teammate he can be. 

\- - -

Scrolling through the comments on his insta post, Jeff can’t help but smile at the reactions from the fans. The more he’s hearing from teammates and friends and fans and family members not named Jillian, the better his choice seems. While he’s not actively hacking up flowers and pieces of his lungs, that is.

But fuck, the fans. They’ve been promised eight years of him and they’ll be lucky if they get two. And what information is even going to come out about his death? It is just going to be an tragic, undisclosed illness, or if his family or the organization going to reveal to the world that he was hopelessly in love?

That’s probably something he needs to talk to Jill and the team about, decide what he wants about that, but that’s a problem for him in the future. Right now he can do something for the fans, though. Because they deserve to know why he wanted to stay, and he can give them some hope for the future. Maybe Jeff can even give them a few years of the building feeling like it did during their win streak last season.

So he pulls out his phone, and starts to explain.

“I’m excited to be able to play with Jack for a long time,” Jeff writes, wincing with every word. It’s just giving false hope to a city that’s had little enough hope at all in recent years. But it’s what he wants to do. It’s why he wants to stay, and he wants to tell the fans why. He’s excited to be able to play with Jack for as long as his body lets him. They might not end up getting Jeff as long as they think they’re going to, but they will have Jack.

\- - -

It’s almost easy to forget, the rest of the summer. He does a press conference in Buffalo, keeps an eye out for other moves the team makes, and throws himself into training harder than ever before.

Because there’s a chance this could be his last season playing hockey, he knows. Depending on how fast his flowers grow and how long the medication he takes dutifully every morning keeps them at bay, his body could be in too poor a condition to play by next fall. So he’s gotta give it everything he has, do something he can be proud of. And, dammit, he wants the chance at the Cup. He wants to play in the playoffs, and he wants to bring that for his teammates, too. 

To see Jack’s eyes light up as he scores one of his beautiful goals in the playoffs. To see Sam bury one and for his smile to brighten the whole arena. To repay the love that Buffalo’s given this team for so long now.

So as the petals come out of his throat, he puts them out of his mind, and trains.

\- - -

The core of the team congregates in Buffalo well before training camp, and despite everything, Jeff’s excited. They’d had a real shot last year and they’d blown it, but they’ve got an even better one this year. It’s just time to capitalize on it and turn talent and potential into wins.

“There’s our forty goal scorer!” Jack calls when Jeff walks in the locker room. And even though there’s a twinge of pain in his chest as he looks over at him and Sam, Jeff smiles. He could’ve picked far worse guys to fall in love with.

He gets hugs and shoulder slaps from most of the guys, congratulations on his shiny new contract that’ll outlive him and happiness that he chose to stay in Buffalo. There’s a few new guys he introduces himself to, though they clearly all know who he is. It’s a good locker room of guys. The best, really. There’s a reason Jeff chose to stay here with them. 

“Gonna share the love and help the rest of us pot forty, too?” Sam asks, hugging him even though he’s only got one skate on. 

“Maybe I want all the goals to myself, you ever think of that?” Jeff asks in return, willing his gaze to not drop to Sam’s lips. He and Jack are happy together, Jeff reminds himself. He’s not an asshole, and anyways Sam would never cheat on Jack. Not to mention that that wouldn’t solve Jeff’s problem anyways.

“Where’s that good Canadian generosity?” another voice from behind him teases, and Jeff turns around to Jack’s smile and fistbump. 

“I’ll let you guys get the points from assisting my goals,” he offers, rubbing at his chest when the pain spikes at their matching smiles. “I’ll join you guys out there, gotta hit the bathroom.”

He escapes before he can notice their confused and worried glances, clapping a hand over his mouth so he doesn’t spew the petals itching at his throat all over the hallway.

\- - -

It’s—fine. It’s harder than he thought it would be, being around them, is all. But he talks to the doctors and gets a prescription for a new medication to slow the choking stems rooted in his chest. And it’s fine. He can still play. He can still spend time with the team and watch Sam and Jack make heart eyes at each other while Jeff sits alone and doesn’t think about being alone for the last little bit of his life.

\- - -

He wakes up unable to breathe. Panic hits before rational knowledge, and he claws at his chest, fighting for breath. His body takes over moments later, and he’s puking over the side of the bed, pain ripping through his chest.

When his body has finished purging for the moment, he slumps back against the pillows, fighting for slow breaths. So it’s going to be one of those days.

By the time he’s cleaned the floor, changed his sheets, tossed them in the laundry, and run through the shower, he’s exhausted and ready to go back to bed. But he’s also five minutes past when he usually leaves for practice, so he pops some Advil for the sharp pain in his chest that still hasn’t subsided. 

He gets a once-over from Jack when he gets to the locker room, a little out of breath from jogging in. He’s not the last one in, though, and he flashes a smile and a thumbs up when Jack asks if he’s okay, brow scrunched in concern.

His expression doesn’t change, but Sam comes along then, saying something into Jack’s ear that makes him grin and flush from his ears to his neck. It’s adorable, really, how sweet they are together. And Jeff is not jealous at all. He’s happy for them.

And if he has to duck out to spend a few minutes coughing up flower petals before practice starts, it’s probably unrelated.

Krueger gives him a stinkeye when he steps onto the ice after everyone else, still a little out of breath. 

“Hurry it up, Skinner!” he calls, waving him over to where Sam and Jack are standing together. 

“—about date night,” Jack is saying when he gets near them, but he breaks off to smile at Jeff. “Hey, Skins. You alright?”

“Totally fine.” Jeff manages a smile, fighting to not rub at his chest. He just needs to get through practice and he can go home and fall asleep for another few hours.

Krueger blows his whistle, and Jeff takes as deep a breath as he can manage. He can do this.

Maybe he can’t do this, he amends halfway through their first drill. It’s just a passing drill but his vision is swimming and it feels like he’s trying to suck air in through a straw. He’s more than grateful when Krueger blows his whistle again. He comes to a stop where he is, leaning over as he fumbles his helmet off to get more air. 

“Okay?” Sam asks, and Jeff wants to say yes except that he can’t seem to get enough air in to speak and it’s a ripping, stabbing pain in his chest. He reaches for the bench, for Sam, for anything to hold him up as his legs start to buckle.

“Jeff!” he hears Jack yelling, but his vision is going dark around the edges and not even his captain’s voice is enough to pull him back.

\- - -

“—wake up yet?” someone says quietly as Jeff filters back into awareness, taking stock of his body.

“No.” Jack’s voice, clipped and tight. “Could be a few hours, docs said.”

“Someone call his family?”

“Yeah, I did. His sister’s on her way. I’m gonna stick around until she gets here.”

“Where’s Sam? I thought he’d be right with you.”

“Grabbing some clothes and stuff for Jeff. He should be here any minute.”

“I should’ve figured. Let me know if any of you need anything, yeah?”

“Of course. Thanks, Caber.”

There’s the sound of a door closing, and then quiet. Or as quiet as it ever gets in a hospital. Jeff wishes he wasn’t quite so familiar with it.

Dragging his eyes open, Jeff blinks a few times, adjusting to the light without pain. Not a concussion, then.

“Jack?” he asks, turning towards the figure slumped next to his bed.

“Hey, you’re up!” Jack bolts upright immediately, shoving his phone back into his sweatshirt pocket. “How’re you feeling? I should call a doctor. Oh, and your sister—“

“I’m fine,” Jeff interrupts, grabbing Jack’s wrist to still him. His chest feels uncomfortably full, and he remembers now, not being able to breathe through the petals choking his lungs and collapsing during practice. Thank God it wasn’t in the middle of a game.

“You’re in the hospital,” Jack reminds him, but he doesn’t reach for the call button, just looks down at Jeff with that intense blue gaze.

“I’m not hurt, I’m just—stupid,” Jeff says, trying to pass it off with a laugh. If anything, Jack’s frown deepens at his efforts. “I’m not hurt.”

“You would’ve smacked your unprotected head on the ice if Sam hadn’t gotten to you in time,” Jack informs him, moving his arm so he’s gripping Jeff’s hand instead of letting Jeff hold onto him. Something seems to shift in him, though, because he shakes his head, shoulders slumping. “Let me call the doctor, and if you get a clean bill of health, I’ll drive you home.”

“Okay,” Jeff agrees. “What’d they say so far?”

“Nothing,” Jack says after he’s pressed the call button. “We’re not family or an emergency contact, so all they’d tell us is that you’re stable and that we could wait with you. Sam called Jillian, though, and she’s on her way.”

“Oh.” Jeff can’t hide his grimace in time, and Jack’s expression deepens from concern into outright worry. Before either of them can say anything, there’s a sharp rap on the door and Sam sticks his head in, visibly brightening when he sees Jeff.

“Good to see you back in the land of the living,” he says, taking the seat next to Jack and taking his boyfriend’s free hand. ”What’s the verdict?”

“Doctor should be here any minute,” Jack tells him, and it’s a subtle movement, but Jeff’s chest tightens at how he leans into Sam’s touch even while he’s still holding Jeff’s hand. 

Trying to avoid coughing up a handful of bloody petals in front of his teammates, Jeff reaches for the bed controls. His body isn’t a fan of the movement, apparently, because his vision goes fuzzy. The warmth of the hand gripping his is the easiest thing to hold onto, but as his vision clears both of his teammates are staring worriedly at him.

“Still gonna go with the story that you’re fine?” Jack asks, trading a glance with Sam. Mindful of the tightness in his lungs, Jeff takes as deep a breath as he’s confident in. This qualifies as things getting bad, he thinks.

But of course he’s interrupted by another knock, this time a doctor who looks about ready to knock some skulls together. Jeff is suddenly absurdly glad that he’s sitting up for this.

“Mr. Skinner, you’re awake. I’m going to have to ask your friends to step out for a moment so I can talk to you,” she says, flipping through his chart and frowning as she speaks. A gentle squeeze of Jeff’s hand precedes Jack letting go, and Jeff’s heart trips into overtime as they start to get up.

“Wait, can they stay?” Jeff asks quickly, too quickly, and he can feel his cheeks get hot as everyone in the room turns to look at him. “If...if you guys want, that is.”

“Of course,” Sam says, gentle as he usually is when Jack is the one hurt. They settle back into their chairs, Jack taking his hand again and Sam resting one on his knee. Holding tight to the two points of warmth, Jeff nods at the doctor that he’s ready.

“I’m guessing you haven’t been sleeping well of late?” she asks. At Jeff’s sheepish nod, she continues. “Well, that combined with the increased heart rate from physical exertion and the lowered oxygen levels and overall weakness from the growth in your lungs are most likely what caused you to pass out.”

Jack makes a sound, soft and hurt like he’s taken a hard hit and the pain has just struck. 

“Can I still play?” Jeff asks, studiously not looking to his left. 

The doctor frowns. “I’ll have to talk to your team physician, see what medications your league allows. I’d imagine we can work something out, but,” she softens her tone slightly, and Jeff tries not to shrink back, “you know it’s only going to get worse. Your playing days are limited.”

“Yeah,” Jeff says, voice as small as he feels. “I know.”

“I’ll see what I can do about that medication,” she says. “Other than that, you’re good to go this afternoon. Unless you have any questions for me?”

“No.” Jeff shakes his head. He doesn’t really want to talk at all right now. He’d much rather curl up in a ball and pretend none of this exists.

She leaves, and Jeff feels Jack’s grip tighten on his hand.

“What are—“ Jack starts to demand, but a quiet word from Sam cuts him off. “Sorry,” Jack mutters.

“No, I—“ Jeff sighs and turns to face them. “I asked you to stay because you guys need to hear this. I promised—I promised my sister I’d talk when things got bad. So, um, yeah. I’m—I have—“

“Hey.” Sam leans forward to make closer eye contact with him, rubbing his knee. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

“No, I really do,” Jeff says, because Jill’s right, she’s been right about the whole thing since the beginning. It’s just going to be fucking hard. “I—“

Jack squeezes his hand, and the pressure rises up in Jeff’s chest again, seemingly at the simple movement. Bending forward as much as the pain allows him, he coughs into his arm and tries to manage breaths as a hand starts rubbing up and down his back. Fuck, he fucking hates this.

But, he realizes, straightening and breathing slowly to avoid setting off another attack, it might make his explanation easier. 

“Here,” he says hoarsely, thrusting the bloodstained petals in his palm towards Sam and Jack.

Jack gets it immediately, lifting his horrified gaze from the flowers to Jeff’s face.

“Who...” he breathes, going stock still and gripping Sam’s hand hard enough that his knuckles have gone white.

“Wait, wait,” Sam says, still looking at the red, white, and blue on Jeff’s outstretched hand. “That’s not...you’re not...”

“Dying of hanahaki? Yeah, I am.”

Jack physically recoils at the first word, flush spreading from high on his cheeks down his whole face. 

“You’re not,” he spits out, standing up and towering over both of them. “You’re not. Who is it? I swear, you’re not going to fucking die from this.”

“Is...it’s us, isn’t it?” Sam’s words are so quiet that Jeff’s not sure at first if he’s heard correctly. But Jack quiets immediately, looking between the two of them with a question in his eyes.

“Yes,” Jeff admits, dropping his gaze to the bloodied evidence in his palm. “That’s why I didn’t want to say anything before. I know you two are happy, and I don’t want you guys to feel pressured or anything, but I promised Jillian I’d at least say something, but—“

He’s rambling, he knows he is, but he can’t seem to stop until Jack is sitting down again, this time on the bed right next to Jeff, and Jeff’s mouth seems to close of its own accord.

“You know what would make us even more happy?” Jack asks. “You. More specifically, you not dying.”

“I know!” Jeff shakes his head, finally dumping the flower petals on the bedside table. “I’m sorry, okay? I don’t want to be dying either, but the doctors said—“

“That’s not what Jack means.” The bed dips as Sam perches on the edge, reaching out to cup Jeff’s jaw. “He means this.”

Sam leans in, slow enough that Jeff realizes what he’s doing, but he still gasps into the kiss.

It doesn’t last long, really just long enough for Jeff to register the warmth of the lips against his and that Sam is kissing him, before Sam pulls away. But he doesn’t move his hand, and Jeff leans into the touch, staring up into Sam’s eyes.

A warm hand presses against his chest, a reminder that it’s not just him and Sam here. Jack smiles, shifting to get closer.

“We love you,” he says, lifting Jeff’s hand and kissing his knuckles, and it’s so fucking soft and romantic and everything Jeff has wanted for almost a year now and it means he doesn’t have to die now and—

Sam puts his hand over Jack’s, on top of the flowers that have been slowly trying to kill Jeff, and Jeff bursts into tears.

“Fuck, sorry, I’m sorry,” he tries to say between his sobs, but Sam is pulling him close so Jeff can bury his face in his shoulder and Jack is rubbing his back and one of them is kissing his temple and _he doesn’t have to die._

“It’s okay,” Sam murmurs. “Let it out. It’s okay, you’re okay.”

And he is, actually, he’s pretty sure. It’s kind of hard to breathe while he’s sobbing uncontrollably but his chest doesn’t hurt and it feels like he’s getting more air in with each ragged, shuddery breath.

And Sam and Jack stay where they are, holding him and never wavering in their support.

Eventually, Jeff takes a deep breath, lifting a hand to wipe his eyes. 

“Water?” Sam asks him softly, running his fingers through Jeff’s hair as Jeff straightens and tries to pull himself together. He’s never cried like that in front of anyone that he can remember, but Jack looks at him with a watery smile and his own red-rimmed eyes, and Sam offers him a glass of water and rubs Jeff’s thigh as he drinks.

“Sorry,” Jeff says again once he’s finished the water, setting the cup aside and leaning against Sam. He feels drained like he’s just bag skated for an hour, yet there’s something cleansing about it. Like he’s been drained of something that he hadn’t even realized was dragging him down. “I’m okay now,” he adds.

“Don’t be sorry,” Jack says, squeezing their still entwined fingers. 

“That’s a lot to have been holding on to,” Sam says, wrapping his arm around Jeff’s shoulders. “I wish—“

He stops himself abruptly, but Jeff nods from where his head is tipped against Sam’s collarbone. 

“I wish I’d told you guys earlier. I just... I didn’t think...” he trails off, too tired to muster up much in the way of embarrassment. 

“But you told us before it was too late,” Jack reminds him. “We can go home, and get some sleep, and it’ll all still be okay in the morning.”

That startles a laugh out of Jeff, and he puts a hand to his chest, waiting for the now-familiar ache to rise up. Which it doesn’t. Because it won’t, now. 

“That...sounds like a good plan to me,” he says. “We should call the doctor back in.”

There are noises of agreement from both sides of him, and none of them move. Jeff thinks he’d be okay with just sitting like this for awhile.

Which, of course, is when Jillian comes flying in.

She’s calmed down a bit from the high-spirited ball of energy she’d been as a child, but it comes back out when she’s upset. And she looks more upset than he’s seen her since they were kids and Jeff had blamed the hockey puck sized hole in their basement wall on her.

She freezes as soon as she closes the door behind her, but Jeff can see her nearly shaking with emotion as she takes in the room. He can tell the moment she realizes he’s been crying, because her fists clench and she bites down harshly on her lower lip.

“Get out,” she snaps, pointing at Sam and Jack. “Leave him alone, get out!”

“Jill, no,” Jeff says before either of them can move. “It’s okay.”

Her face twists, and Jeff realizes with a start that she’s trying not to cry. God, he owes her so much for putting her through all this.

“You’ve been saying that for months,” she spits, “and it’s not. You’re in the hospital! You can’t—You’re going to—to leave me, and I can’t—“

“He’s okay, really,” Jack interrupts before she can go on. “He talked to us just before you got here, and he’s going to be just fine. We—love him.”

Jack lifts their joined hands as proof, and Jill’s eyes go wide. She reaches a shaking hand for one of the chairs behind her and sinks into it, lifting her pleading gaze to Jeff.

He nods, a smile lifting his lips involuntarily when Jack squeezes his hand and Sam tightens his grip around his shoulders.

“Yeah. It’s—You were right, from the start. I should’ve listened to you.”

Jillian takes a deep breath, shaking her head a few times. “Of course I was,” she says, sounding more like herself. “I told you. Didn’t I tell you that you were probably being oblivious?”

“You did,” Jeff acknowledges. He looks at Jack and then at Sam, meeting their gazes as steadily as he can. “Would you guys give us a few minutes? I’m sure the doctors will want to check me over, and I’d like to get out of here as soon as possible.”

“Sure thing,” Jack says, giving him an all too brief kiss and getting up, offering a hand up to Sam. 

“We’ll be back soon,” Sam says, nodding at Jill and smiling at Jeff. As the door closes behind them, Jill reaches forward to wrap a hand around Jeff’s wrist from where he’d reached up idly to rub at his chest.

“So,” she says quietly, putting a hand on his chest like Jack had done not long ago. 

“Yeah.” Jeff hesitates a moment then decides, fuck it, Jill needs him now. He stands, grateful that there’s nothing tethering him to the bed, and pulls her into a hug, rubbing her back, just like Sam had just done for him. “I’m okay. I passed out at practice, but I talked to Sam and Jack and it’s—everything is fine now.”

“They love you,” Jill says, shoving at his arm and smiling tenuously at him when he lets go of her. “I told you so. I just—I’m so glad you’re going to be okay.”

“I think—maybe better than okay,” Jeff says, unable to hold back a smile when he thinks back to warm hands holding his and warm lips against his own. 

\- - -

“Sure you’re good to be back out there, Skins?” Oakie asks, nudging the skate that Jeff is lacing up. “Don’t want you fainting in front of everyone and scaring the fans away.”

“Very funny,” Jeff mutters, brain stalling on a comeback. It’s only the laces keeping his hands occupied that keep him from rubbing at his now-clear chest. The scans had come back completely clear and he hasn’t brought up petals since that last handful in the hospital, and so he’d asked the training staff and his boyfriends not to say anything to the team. No need to worry them now that the root of it is gone. Quite literally, actually, as Jeff thinks about it. 

Sam and Jack are two of the last ones in the locker room as the team traipses out for warmups, so Jeff lingers with them, reveling in the deep breaths he can take now without pain. 

“Ready?” Jack asks him, cupping Jeff’s helmet with a gloved hand and bending down so he can lightly tap theirs together.

“Let’s go,” Jeff says, tapping his glove to Sam’s and smiling when Jack pats Sam’s ass. And maybe this—the three of them, entangled as they’ve become—won’t make sense to anyone else, but as Jeff looks at them, nothing seems to make sense more.


End file.
